Roads
by jsfan4ever
Summary: You turn away from her because there are rules, things you can't do, roads you can't take, and places you can't ever go to. [J&S pairing]


Disclaimer: I still own nothing but the DVDs.

Spoilers: There are glimpses of AYNOHYEB, FO Part 2, and MvsM.

Summary: You turn away from her because there are rules, things you can't do, roads you can't take, and places you can't ever go to. JS.

A/N: Another J&S one-shot... It's mostly from Jack's point of view, except the last part. Many many thanks to M for beta-reading it!

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Roads

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"_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I− I took the one less travelled by, and that made all the difference_"_ − Robert Frost  
_

It's similar to the instant your mind hovers on the immaterial brink of consciousness, and you find yourself half awake and half asleep, only partially aware of your surroundings. Your thoughts are already far away, in a sanctuary no one will be able to reach, travelling in a world of illogical fantasies and unrealizable dreams that are so much better than the unforgiving reality.

However, it's not like falling asleep late at night, quietly and innocently. It's more like drowsing at the wheel. You're driving and supposed to be paying attention to the road in front of you, but you're exhausted, and the low, monotonous humming of the engine makes you want to pull up on the side of the road. You wish you could close your eyes; and you want to believe that no one would care if you did. But the thing is, it's not only about you: you're a husband, and a father, and an FBI agent, and you have work to do and families to reunite and people to save. So you keep moving along the right track, and you accept that your life is just a well-settled routine, with the same road to follow day after day. You pretend to be attentive and alert and no one notices you're not, no one knows your lids are falling, because the cars around you go their own way, and the people nearby, both familiar and foreign, mind their own business.

"_Every day is the same. You're there, they're there. And you just get a little tied up in your... job, your kids, your life. Pretty soon you forget the last time you had a real feeling."_

Then one day it changes. It changes because at last something draws your attention, something that wasn't there before: it's a faint light in the distance and you assume it wouldn't be difficult to reach provided that you took another route. But life taught you to be careful, so you cautiously read the signs on the road that warn you of upcoming dangers if you make a turn, and you tell yourself that it would be wiser to keep advancing on the road you're on. And that's what you do. That's what you do because after all, it's the safe way, the one you're accustomed to, the one you ought to be taking. That's what you do because you're an adult, and you have a family, and you're responsible enough to dissociate right from wrong. So you try to keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel where they belong, and you head home.

"_Sam?."_

"_Hey, Jack."_

"_It's been a long day; you should have left a long time ago."_

"_Yeah, I probably should have…"_

She looks at you and you look right back at her, temporarily losing sight of your initial destination. Fascinated, you realize that the expression on her face seems to be reflecting exactly what you're feeling, and in that moment you allow yourself to ignore the rest. She squeezes your shoulder softly and tells you she understands; and you share your pain with her because she _knows._ It's simple and easy, so easy to be with her and hold her gaze… so easy to live only for these instants during which you see in her eyes the same longing that she must read in yours.

"_Sam?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Nothing… Never mind."_

"_Okay. I−I mean…Good night, Jack."_

It's perilous. It's perilous because you're supposed to be focusing on where you're going right now and not on her, not on how she looks or on the way your stomach seems to flip whenever she whispers your name. It's dangerous, because you've read the signs, and you know perfectly well that what you want isn't the same as what is right. So you break the spell and also mutter a quiet _good night,_ and you turn away from her because there are rules, and things you can't do, and roads you can't take, and places you can't ever go to.

And yet… yet you progressively lose the fight, because you can't stand it any longer, you've had enough of this path that you could follow with your eyes closed. You want more than this awful routine that makes you want to scream; you want to open your eyes and feel alert as you haven't been in ages. And it turns out that _more_ is quite easy to get, especially when it takes the form of a person who is as willing as you are to make it happen. So you take a breath, grab the wheel and make a turn.

It's brutal. It's terrifying. But somehow, it's not that unexpected.

"_This isn't a good idea…"_

"_No. Probably not."_

"_Jack…"_

"_I know, Sam. I know… It's okay."_

It's okay because you ignore the risks involved. You need the thrill that comes with discovery; you need her hands in yours, the comfort of her touch, the softness of her skin, the quiet reassurance that if you hold her close, then everything will be all right. And it is. You're awake and it's perfect; you're with her and she's with you and it's all you could ever ask for. You finally have a purpose, you have light even in the darkest hours; and above all you have hope, hope that there might be something out there that will finally take you far away from the road that makes you want to rub your eyes and fall asleep.

Oh, sure, you remember about the other path: you remember about your wife and daughters, you remember that you're her boss, and that she's on your team. But it doesn't matter, does it? You've made your choice and taken a new route, for better and for worse. It's wonderful and wrong at the same time, and you both know it; but you can't prevent it, not really, because you need it as much as she does. So you take what you have and secretly cherish it; and you hide that secret in unspoken truths, in lies and promises, in dreams that you can share with her in these forbidden, stolen moments that you spend together.

"_Thank you, Sam."_

"_For what?"_

"_For being here."_

You're really, sincerely glad that she's with you. You're glad to be yourself when you're with her. It's not about pretending anymore, faking happiness, walking around like a ghost with that false smile plastered on your face. It's about standing in front of her without hiding anything; letting her see your pain and regrets, your dreams and fears. She can see who you are and what you've done, the images that haunt you as they haunt her; and most of all she can tell how much you want and can't have her. It's about standing in front of her completely exposed and saying with your eyes: 'You know everything about me, Sam, even the things I've never told anyone, not even my wife. You know who I am like no one else before you, and you can judge me as no one else ever will; and I'll trust you with it, I'll trust you with every smile and tear and whisper, with my life and soul; I'll trust you whatever you do and whatever you say because whatever happens, this is who I truly am and you're the only one who will ever know.'

There are obstacles along the way. Red lights, from time to time, that make you slow down, stop and question your choices. Sometimes she questions them, too.

"_What are we doing, Jack?"_

"_We're lying on your bed, listening to the rain and doing a crossword puzzle. It's nice."_

"_Come on…"_

"_I don't know."_

And surely one day it's time to stop fooling yourself, time to recognize what you've been doing, time to face the truth. Time to admit to yourself that you shouldn't have made that turn, because it leads nowhere.

You hate the signs that announce it. Something that feels so good and right has to be true, doesn't it? How could it be nothing but an illusion? You ignore the signs completely; you keep driving as if they didn't even exist− until you can disregard them no longer, and you have to realize that the road _does_ end, and it hurts. It hurts when you have to hit the brakes, because you were enjoying the drive and it made you feel alive and happy and−

And it hurts, because it's so sudden.

"_Jack… What's wrong?"_

"_I need to talk to you."_

It kills you inside. There's more pain there than you could ever have imagined. It's hard to give it all up; it's excruciating to watch her smile fade away, to hold her gaze and see the tears in her eyes, to take her hand when she can no longer be yours, to hold her in your arms and attempt to tell her it'll be all right when you know that it won't be. She asks you _why_ in a quiet voice and you tell her you can't do this any more, and when she replies softly that she understands, you're the one whose voice cracks. She tells you it's okay, she clings to you like a lifeline and you cling to her in this unforgettable instant, and finally you say good-bye, and you do what everybody does at a dead end: you turn around, and you go back the way you came. You take the road you knew so well again. Slowly. Painfully. With a broken heart.

But that lifeless road is no longer the same; it's bare and frozen and colourless. Well, maybe the road itself hasn't changed much; but you know about another one now, you know where the turn is, you know the path that is waiting for you. You see her everyday, right? You look at her and talk with her, you hear the echo of her broken voice in your ears, you remember what she asked you and the answer you gave her and the voices in your mind ask _why_ again, _why_ did you have to end it, _why_ won't the things we once dreamt of ever happen, _why_ does it have to be so impossible… And when you see the mixture of pain and regret etched on her face every time she holds your gaze, you know what she wants and you know it's what you want too.

Except it's not that simple. That road won't take you anywhere, it's an impasse. You've been through enough to be aware of that. You fear the day you'll both have to acknowledge it− until it comes, and you can't hide the truth anymore. So you look into her eyes, and something inside you breaks when she asks you the question you never wanted to hear.

"_It's over, isn't it?"_

You want to tell her no, it's not. It will never be.

But it's not like you have a choice: you have to warn her that the road is a lie, a trap, an illusion. So you nod and watch as her hopes shatter, and yours shatter at the same time.

"_Yeah, it's over."_

It sounds so cold, so absolute, so final. It's cold in your life too, and nothing will be able to keep you warm as she once did, nothing will replace what you had because the truth is, no one but you and she will ever understand what you've lost. You advance blindly, trespassing into the darkness because you left the light behind, a part of you in her apartment and the life you wanted somewhere along that road.

You wonder if you'll ever risk driving there again one day. At first, you think not. You've suffered enough already, and most of all she has to, and you know she doesn't deserve to get lost on the path you so inconsiderately decided to explore. But then you tell yourself it'll happen. It's inevitable. You know it because you still work with her, and you catch her eyes from time to time, and you hear the hollowness in her voice when she talks to you sometimes, when there's no one around. You hear the sadness in you own, and you brush your fingers along her arm, because you crave so much what you no longer have; and when she reacts to your touch, you know she can be yours if you make that turn again.

So you let yourself hope. Maybe that road just wasn't finished last time. Maybe you need more time to build it. Maybe if you're patient enough, everything will be fine.

One day… that road will lead you somewhere.

-:-:-:-:-

"Jack?" 

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." She pauses, feeling a bit awkward. "You were just sort of… lost in thought."

"I'm just driving, Sam."

"Right." She gives a look at the map she's holding on her lap and tries to hide her discomfort. She reflects that it feels strange, to be alone with him again. It doesn't matter that they're at work and going to interrogate a suspect; in moments like these, they're back to square one, with just him and her, with the uncomfortable silences between them that speak volumes, with the soft voices, the careful tones and the gentle, accidental touches.

"It should be just a couple of blocks." She looks outside through the window, observing the road. "This looks familiar, I don't know why…" she comments before giving a glance at the map. "There," she points at an intersection, "I think that's the way."

_That's the way. _Her words make him turn to look at her. Their eyes lock, and it feels like the distance between them has suddenly been reduced. It's just a single glance, but it awakens something deep: a familiar combination of sadness, hope, guilt and ache resurface all of a sudden, along with a longing that has never really been gone.

It all hangs in the air between them, tangible, shrouded with a quiet uncertainty that, at last, makes him look away.

His eyes are back on the road, but this time she can see the small, hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, it's time to make a turn," he acknowledges quietly.

/ End

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End file.
